


All The World's A Stage

by KoreArabin



Series: Redemption [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bondage, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Multi, Non-Consensual Violence, Orgasm Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes, brother <i>dear</i>.  I had your wine dosed with a sedative as you ate your supper yesterday, and brought here to the castle as you slept.  And now, my dear, <i>sweet</i> brother, you are totally at my mercy and I intend to repay you in full for what you did to me."</p><p>"Fight all you want - struggle and cry out for me.  The more you do, the more we shall enjoy the show, and I already know that this is one I am going to enjoy very much."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Shhh, Sire, it is a surprise. Come now, _King_ John, let this be my very first gift to you, in your Majesty."

The Prince giggles, the wine they've consumed having affected him significantly more than the woman at his side.

"A gift, you shay, Ishabella? Ish one I covet? One would hope sho..."

"Oh, yes, Sire. One that you covet, and I perhaps even moreso."

oOo

The dungeon is dark and close, but the flickering torches illuminate the figure on the low dais well enough. He kneels, naked, his knees and ankles strapped to the wooden platform upon which he's bound, his thighs spread wide and secured to the base of a stout rectangular frame, one to each corner, his arms similarly spread above his head and secured to the uppermost corners of the rectangle.

His body is taut with tension, stretched out into the truncated 'X', a thick black leather strap secured over his genitals, binding his cock and balls tightly. But what most intrigues the Prince, his tipsiness of a few moments ago evaporating as rapidly as his good mood and favour normally do, is the round metal contraption strapped into the prisoner's mouth.

The prisoner is blindfolded, a thick, supple band of leather secured tightly around his head, and so the Prince has no compunction in drawing nearer to the bound man and examining the implement more closely.

Isabella smirks. "It is a device similar to those used by our horse doctors when giving a draught to a recalcitrant steed, Sire. It holds the mouth open, just so, so that even the most stubborn beast cannot refuse what is fed to it."

The Prince smiles at Isabella, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "And I see that the poor beast cannot prevent itself drooling all over its own body either."

He places one gloved finger into the prisoner's gaping mouth, pressing down on his tongue, forcing a grunt of anger from the restrained man, as another string of saliva trickles slowly from the gag, down over his straining torso. 

"A quite magnificent gift, my dear. You have surpassed yourself."

Isabella smiles mischievously, taking the Prince's arm and leading him over to one of two cushioned, ornate chairs, which seem totally out of place in the dank, murky dungeon.

"Oh, but there is more, Sire. I am sure that you know this traitorous _beast_ stretched out here before us, but I think even so I shall remove its blindfold. I do so wish to see its eyes as it is punished."

Isabella removes the thick blindfold, and the crystal blue eyes of her brother are revealed, blazing with anger and humiliation.

"Yes, brother _dear_. I had your wine dosed with a sedative as you ate your supper yesterday, and brought here to the castle as you slept. And now, my dear, _sweet_ brother, you are totally at my mercy and I intend to repay you in full for what you did to me."

Gisborne shouts around the gag, and twists violently in his restraints, trying to free himself, but his struggles are in vain. He is too securely restrained. Isabella's voice taunts him as he fights and growls in frustration.

"Yes, Guy, oh _yes_! Fight all you want - struggle and cry out for me. The more you do, the more we shall enjoy the show, and I already know that this is one I am going to enjoy very much."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sire, there is wine, and sweetmeats and other delicacies there on the table behind you. And on the other table, alongside - items of a more _unusual_ bent, my Lord."

Pouring himself a goblet of wine, the Prince surveys the implements on the adjoining table.

"My dear, yet again you surpass yourself. You give me much pleasure with your gift; it _is_ one I covet, and one I shall treasure, my lovely Isabella."

Isabella stands close by the Prince, her brother and his protestations momentarily forgotten. "And would you select an implement, Sire, to discipline and subjugate this beast? There are many tools here to make it regret its foolhardy alliances and traitorous deeds, and rue the day it ever thought to defy you."

The Prince laughs his high, silvery laugh. "Oh no, my dear. Ladies first, I insist."

"Very well, Sire." Isabella lingers over the table, running her fingertips lightly over the array of implements laid out. The table has been arranged so that it and its contents is in full view of Gisborne, and so Isabella takes her time deliberating over which implement to select, knowing that her brother will be watching her in trepidation. Finally, she picks up a thick leather tawse, testing its heft by slapping it lightly against her palm. 

Slipping behind Gisborne, who struggles violently in his restraints, trying to track her movements, she grasps a handful of buttock and twists, wrenching it painfully. Gisborne hisses as she does the same to the other buttock. 

“What pretty noises you make, brother dear. I should have liked to give you something to really shout about, but I fear my hands are too small and feminine to deliver a proper beating, and so I shall have to rely on _this_.”

With that Isabella brings the tawse down viciously across his buttocks, and Gisborne cries out, as much in surprise at the severity of the blow as in pain. For someone of such self-professed delicacy, Isabella packs one hell of a punch.

She lays into him, raining blow after blow of the tawse across his thighs, buttocks and back, as Gisborne tries to stifle his grunts of pain and struggles helplessly against his restraints. Only when Isabella is panting with effort and her arm is sore from use does she stop to admire her handiwork.

Gisborne’s back, arse and thighs are covered with vivid red and purple welts, outlined in relief in white, and his body is glistening with perspiration, even in the cool air of the dungeon. Giving his arse one last resounding thwack, Isabella steps away and drops the tawse back on to the implements table, taking a goblet of wine from the other. 

The Prince smiles at her, his gaze lewd and appraising. “A very impressive performance, my dear. The poor thing struggled and moaned and _drooled_ quite fetchingly. I rather fancy a go next; what do you suggest I use?”

“Well…. he was very ticklish as a boy – I wonder if that’s still the case?” She hands the Prince a couple of long, curving, quills, staring into Gisborne’s eyes and holding his gaze tauntingly. 

“You could try his feet, Sire, or his underarms, or his _balls_. Any of those would be extremely ticklish, I would imagine.”

"His _balls_? Hmmmmm - yes, I would imagine so too, trussed up like that. They must be very sensitive, his prick, too. We shall have to test some these other implements out on them later, shall we not, my dear?"

Taking a long swallow of her wine, and settling herself back into the comfortable chair, Isabella chuckles as her brother first tenses, and then begins to struggle and moan as the Prince draws one of the quills mercilessly over the soles of his feet, unable to pull away with his ankles and knees secured to the dais.

“Oh, shush, brother dearest, it’s only a little feather. You’ll wear yourself out, and you need to keep your strength up. It’s going to be a very long night.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gisborne struggles wildly as the Prince next assaults his underarms, nipples, and finally his perineum and testicles, yelling incomprehensibly around the ring gag stretching his mouth. He has always been unbearably ticklish and this, stretched wide and totally defenceless, is more of a torture to him than the thrashing. 

A glob of saliva flies from the gag and lands on the Prince's richly-embroidered tunic, and the Prince stares at it, first in horror and then in growing ire.

"You filthy animal! How dare you besmirch the royal personage in such a disgusting way? _How dare you_?"

Picking up the leather tawse from the table, the Prince slashes wildly at Gisborne's face and neck, provoking another series of shouts, this time of pain, from the bound man.

Isabella looks on in dismay; for all her talk of hurting her brother, she intended only to subject him to some physical punishment and sexual humiliation this evening, and not to blind him, or worse.

"Sire. _Sire_? Perhaps a gag would be a better punishment, so that he cannot defile your clothing again?"

Prince John pauses, mid-stroke, panting, and collects himself. 

"Yes, yes, my dear, you are right. I do not wish to render our prisoner insensible so early on in the proceedings."

Isabella hands him a short, stubby, dildo, of just the right girth to fill Gisborne's mouth through the ring gag. Gisborne is fairly quivering in pain and anger, the bridge of his nose and his cheek bleeding, and one eye rapidly developing an impressively vivid shiner. Using the tip of the dildo to scoop the saliva from his tunic, the Prince moves forward until he is virtually nose to nose with his prisoner, and pushes the dildo slowly into Gisborne's helpless, waiting, mouth.

Gisborne snarls and chokes, but is unable to prevent his throat being raped by the solid, cold, invader. The Prince reaches down and pinches Gisborne's testicles, hard, and he bellows in pain, muffled only slightly by the dildo gag.

"I could have my guards come in here now, and fuck your mouth one after the other, and there would be nothing at all that you could do about it, Gisborne. Nothing at all. Shall I do that, you animal? Have them fill your throat and cover your face with their spend? And your arse, too, hmmmm?"

Gisborne simply glowers at the Prince, not deigning to respond with so much as a shake of the head. The Prince will do as he wishes, he knows, and he will not demean himself by appearing to beg. The Prince rakes over his naked body with his eyes, provoking another crimson flush of humiliation on Gisborne's face despite himself.

"Yes, your _arse_ ; I enjoyed your gift to me, Gisborne, although I now begin to think that it was not so much a gift as a bribe, eh? Or, rather, a gift that you no longer _had_ to offer, having been taken, I now understand, by _so many men_ over the years?"

Isabella gasps. "What is this, Sire?"

Prince John snorts, waving a dismissive hand at Gisborne. "He sought to charm me into making him Sheriff by offering me his _arse_ to fuck - what he claimed was his _virgin_ arse, no less."

Gisborne snarls and struggles in anger, having done no such thing, but rather being forced by the Prince to offer himself and play the reluctant innocent as he was defiled.

"Guy! How could you? I can hardly believe that even _you_ would stoop so low!" Isabella stares at Gisborne, open-mouthed, then twists her face into a far colder, crueler expression.

"If my - I am becoming more loathe by the minute to say _brother_ , my Lord - so loves having his backside used in such a way, I have the very implement for it." Isabella picks up what appears to be a short drop-spindle for collecting wool, only shorter than those usually used by the spinsters of the city and the surrounding villages.

"This is the base of it, see, Sire, and these lock on to it." She takes a long, smooth cylindrical piece of wood, tapered at one end, and slots it down over the spindle. 

"It fits on - so - and can be removed and a piece of wood of greater girth fitted - so! The wooden fitments go from _this_ , perhaps the breadth of a thumb, to _this_ , virtually the girth of a man's forearm. I am sure I do not have to explain to your Majesty the way in which this implement is intended to be used?"

"No, indeed not, my dearest Isabella. And so, let us continue; you shall wield your _implement_ as you see fit, and I shall direct my attention to our so _very_ accommodating guest's other orifice."


	4. Chapter 4

"I shall summon the guards, Sire. They can release the vertical strut of the frame, and rearrange our _guest_ into a more _accessible_ position."

The Prince smiles. "And you need not tell them to refrain from manhandling _it_. No _fucking_ it, obviously, but a little putting it in its place shall not be viewed awry."

Isabella and the Prince at last leave Gisborne alone, and he uses every last vestige of his strength to try to break free from his restraints. Just as it appears that there may be a way to escape, the frame creaking ominously as Gisborne throws his whole body weight into twisting the wooden struts, the arrival of a group of soldiers is heralded by a series of heavy, clanking footfalls on the stone steps leading down to the dungeon.

There are four of them, the usual none-too-bright but so-very-obedient castle guards, openly ogling and leering at Gisborne in his naked, helpless, state.

"Well, well, what 'ave we 'ere then, boys? Only Sir Guy of bleedin' Gisborne, and not lookin' so 'igh and mighty now, eh?"

They do not even bother to pretend that they're not enjoying taking the former Sheriff's former right hand man down a peg or two. Freeing Gisborne from his restraints, they shackle his arms to a chain hanging from the ceiling above his head, and leave him, stretched out and balancing on the tips of his toes, as they dismantle the rectangular frame and replace it with a simple block, attaching more restraints to the iron rings set into the surface of the platform. 

Gisborne can see that once he is restrained, bent forwards over the block, his arms and legs will be secured to the platform, and his arse and mouth will be at the perfect height to be fucked. It is not a prospect to look forward to.

"C'mon, let's get you down then. You've been a very bad lad, ain't you, and you know what 'appens to bad lads when the Prince gets 'old of them, dontcha? They get a slap - "

With this, the leader of the soldiers punches Gisborne hard in the stomach, which makes him try to lean forward reflexively, his feet lifting from the floor. Gisborne groans as his entire body weight is taken on his wrists, and flails with his legs, trying to regain his balance.

He isn't given a chance. The punches and kicks from the guards come fast and hard, until he's left simply hanging from the shackles, a final hard kick between the legs making him choke and retch. Faintly, as if from a great distance, he hears the leader marshalling his subordinates.

"Get 'im down, and put 'im over the block. Quick - 'er Ladyship said we could give 'im a bit of a goin' over, but let's get 'im restrained in case they reckon as we've gone too far."

Gisborne registers the tension falling away from his wrists, but cannot make more than a token show of resistance to being bent over and secured tightly over the block. He lies still, slumped in his restraints, blood dripping from the places on his face where the Prince's beating injured him, broken open again by the guards' brutal treatment.

Gisborne drifts in and out of consciousness, on a cloud of pain and, again, indifference to his fate, until he is startled abruptly from his dreamlike state by a very hard slap to his backside.

"Sire, I told the guards to manhandle him a little, not to render him insensible!"

"Isabella, my dear, you have, surely, in your collection of female accroutrements, some smelling salts, hmmmm?"

"Oh! Yes, indeed, Sire. Hi - you there - away to my chambers and rouse my ladies to give you my chest of medicines."

The Prince smiles thinly at Isabella. "We'll rouse it, fuck it, then lock it back up ready from its execution."

If Isabella feels even the slightest pang of sisterly affection for her brother, it is not apparent. 

"Yes, Sire. By the time we have finished with it, it shall undoubtedly welcome the hangman's noose."


End file.
